Twas the Night Before Christmas
by c1araoswa1d
Summary: Christmas always brings magical surprises.


On the outside, it wasn't the largest home in the block. Shingles painted a dark blue that had been muted with age, accented with white trim, the little house sat nestled into a corner at the end of a road, tucked further back than the rest, shrouded in snow capped pine trees. The Doctor's boots shuffled through the dusting of flurries that had settled down upon the darkened asphalt he'd just shoveled and he sighed at it before hoisting the tool over his aching shoulder, making his way towards the glow of those windows. He smiled, head bowed shyly as he thought of its occupants – this home, he knew, was definitely bigger on the inside.

"Was it much?" Clara asked him before the door had creaked shut behind him, already rushing towards him to help him out of his thick damp coat as he leaned the shovel against the wall, to her chagrin.

His laughter was light as he shook his head and uttered quietly, "No, but it was much for these old bones."

She smiled up at him, folding his coat over her left arm before giving his elbow a pat as she kissed his cheek and told him softly, "Go settle yourself by the fireplace and I'll bring you some tea."

Head bowing in a nod, he kicked his boots off, staring down at the purple striped socks covering his angry feet as he wiggled the feeling back into his toes. A good hot bath, he thought to himself with a sigh as he stepped towards the living room, a good hot bath and a bowl of soup was what he needed.

The crackling of the fire called to him, but he moved to stand beside a Christmas tree adorned with lights and hand-made ornaments she'd collected over the years. Of course she would, he thought as he touched a finger to an odd snowman, listening to it jingle as he huffed a laugh. Of course she would. Inhaling the smell of pine and that lingering scent of Oswald that followed his every movement, the Doctor waited, listening to the quiet steps approaching and he laughed when the small arms clamped around his legs, tiny fingers rubbing softly at his left thigh, just above his knee.

"Did your mum send you in to warm me up," he teased the little boy giggling up at him.

Watching the bright eyes that stared back, the Doctor lifted a hand to brush over the head of thick dark hair that hung just a bit too long around his head, pushing aside his bangs delicately before giving his chin a gentle nudge of his knuckle. A nudge that earned him a dimpled smile and a blush.

How Clara had produced the shy child beside him was a wonder to the Doctor. He imagined her offspring would be boisterous and bold, but this one, he sighed. This scrawny little bit of nothing holding tightly to his body; this silent doubting boy... the Doctor hadn't expected him.

"Come, let's stand nearer to the flames," he prompted, hand finding a bony shoulder to lead him towards the fireplace, feeling the reluctance to relinquish his grip just before he turned, his left arm wedging itself between the Doctor's knees to curl around his right one in a tight hold as they stopped to look in at the fire.

Every breath the boy took was long, measured, and he waited. He knew words were coming, sensed the connections being made within his mind, and yet he was hesitant to speak those thoughts forming. The Doctor closed his eyes, some part of him understanding the fear settled in that boy's heart.

"Mummy says we're not to stand too close to the fire," he told him.

Pointing, the Doctor offered, "Your mum once stood just beside the pit of a volcano, so it's a bit hypocritical for her to tell you not to stand closer to the fireplace, which is meant to warm you." He glanced down to see the smirk that dimpled his left cheek again and he felt that arm around his leg squeeze for just a second, some appreciative little hug for their solidarity in an odd sort of defiance against Clara.

"Still dangerous though," the boy allowed after a moment.

Nodding, the Doctor shifted him away, watching the child study him curiously as he crossed his legs and sat on the carpeted floor, hands held out to the flames that licked up into the chimney. Nodding to him, the Doctor waited until he'd scrambled to sit at his side, but he held his hands balled up against his stomach, fiddling with the buttons on the red and grey striped onesie pajamas he wore.

"Nicholas," the Doctor prompted, "It's not dangerous to warm your hands – it's dangerous to touch the flames and though it may not seem that way from where we sit, there is a grand difference in the distance."

Glancing up at him slowly, thinking about his words, the boy took a breath and then held out his palms, looking to the way his hands seemed silhouetted against the brightness of the fire. The Doctor could see the concentration on his small round face, as though he still believed he were breaking some rule, but was determined to. For _him_.

After a long sigh, he explained softly, "The things your mother tells you, Nicholas, she tells you to help keep you safe. Your mind – _your fantastic and wondrous mind_ – makes these words unbendable, far much harsher and stricter than she'd intended them to be." He touched the boy's back, waiting for him to curl his fingers and bring his arms in to turn and look at him, eyes focused on him entirely, "It's good to listen to your mother, but you have to learn how to..."

"Be normal," he finished for him, head dropping, disappointed in himself so readily, the Doctor thought in frustration. Too hard on himself for his own good at too young an age to be worrying about such things.

Urging him closer, the Doctor pulled him into his lap, letting Nicholas settle himself into the length of crossed legs underneath him like a baby bird in a nest. The boy leaned back into his chest, eyes now trained on the fire flickering about safely before them, and the Doctor could feel the rigidity in his posture.

He recognized it well.

"You're absolutely normal to me," he told him softly, hands sliding off his small shoulders and over his arms to slip his palms underneath the child's, watching as the boy laid his own fingers flat atop, too small yet to reach passed the light calluses of the Doctor's hands. "You are more than normal, in fact, you might just be magnificent."

"Listen to him," Clara interrupted, stepping into the room with a mug of tea she kept in her hands as she came to sit carefully beside them, looking to her son's warm smile and the identical one the man who held him wore. She touched the boy's nose softly and supplied, "He's been around this universe for over two thousand years, he knows a thing or two about magnificence."

"He knows a lot about everything," Nicholas teased, giggling as the Doctor feigned annoyance before offering Clara a grin.

The woman beside him kept her eyes trained on her child, and the Doctor sighed as he looked between them, knowing he could spend an eternity watching them this way. He focused on the feel of her arm pressed into his, and the weight of the child in his lap. He measured their breaths and the beats of their hearts and he knew each of his had synced to one of theirs, pumping in tandem in a way that was merely a biological certainty to him, but would be magical to their human minds.

"Do you think we could go on an adventure?" Nicholas asked him quietly, nervously, fingers picking at one another just as his mother's often did.

His lips met that small forehead firmly before he told him, "Yes, absolutely, but where would we go? It's the night before Christmas and we wouldn't want to miss Santa. I've been told there are plenty of gifts for a certain little boy who has been very good this year."

Blue eyes rolling back as he laughed, Nicholas replied, "You know we could have an adventure and be back before Santa arrives."

Clara huffed in amusement before informing him, "And you know it's already past your bedtime, Nicholas."

The Doctor watched him shrink slightly, nodding slowly as his brow dropped, more upset with himself, the Doctor knew, than the time he'd been reminded of. The Doctor looked to Clara, head tilted, brow furrowed, lips twisted, as though to say _the boy_ is _right_ , and Clara dropped her chin slightly, offering a look as if to respond _and he's still just a boy_. To which he toggled a hand and before he could speak, the front door swung open and they all turned, momentarily frightened before the red suit came into view.

"Someone did a shoddy job shoveling the driveway," Santa scoffed, "Almost missed the place."

Nicholas gasped as he stood, pointing and then dropping his hand, knowing it was rude to point, and then he bowed and straightened, shaking his head. Was it proper to bow to Santa? He looked to his mother, who smiled down at him and sighed, knowing adventure had definitely landed itself on the agenda.

The Doctor stepped forward, frowning as he allowed, "Hope your elves have brought baggies for the reindeer droppings as I'm not keen on picking up after them," he waved a hand in front of his nose as he grimaced, "Nor am I fond of the smell."

"Oh, hush," Santa groaned, stepping past him to look at the boy practically shivering in his mother's grasp. "I'm here for one Nicholas Daniel Oswald, three years, seven months, two weeks, and six days old today, made the nice list for the third year and counting, had a single item on his list and even though it breaks a lot of rules, I thought perhaps he was one of those cases where a few broken rules were necessary for a lot of good in the long run."

"I didn't know it was against rules, sir," Nicholas squeaked as his head shook, "I... I can ask for something else."

Shaking his head, Santa took a knee and laughed, "Oh no, Nicholas..."

"What did he ask for?" Clara and the Doctor asked together.

Standing, Santa held out a hand, waiting until Nicholas grew brave enough to step away from his mother to take it, and he swallowed roughly, looking up at the man who chuckled down at him before telling Clara, "Better get him a coat, he's gonna need it."

"You're not taking my son on your sleigh," she laughed, looking to see the way her little boy's shoulders slowly drooped as his face turned and he frowned at the ground, already nodding as his cheeks were going red alongside his eyes. "Without me," she added quietly.

Raising a finger, the Doctor added gruffly, "Or me."

Small lips lifting into a grin as he looked from one adult to the next, Nicholas took a breath and asked Santa, "Are we really going to help you deliver presents?"

Nodding, Santa offered, "That you are, Nicholas," then he looked to the Doctor and Clara with a frown, "And knowing your parents, getting into a bit of trouble along the way." He glanced back at the boy who was practically glowing and asked softy as a plucked a tangerine from his pocket to hand to him, "Are you ready?"

Taking the fruit, Nicholas whispered, "Geronimo."


End file.
